The Watering Hole
by LimeyMelodies
Summary: This isn't a fan fiction, but this will be something some fans will hopefully enjoy.


Let me introduce you to The Watering Hole before I was involved with it. It sat on Road 59 where it used to be the place to go to on a Friday night. Personally, I couldn't tell you when that was. But, I'll describe what I was told.

The parking lot was made of red clay. It surrounded the building like a dull rusty apron, wide on the sides and front and very narrow towards the back. It was completely barren of any life save some stubborn weeds in the ditches. The place would be packed every Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and even Monday nights. Super sporty muscle cars and trucks would squeeze side by side in order to grab some of what The Watering Hole had to offer.

It once had brilliant neon signs and the chrome would always shine. The outside walls were creamy with pink and turquoise stripes posing as duel belts for the café. The single stainless steel door welcomed you in with an open/closed sign and a brass colored bell that would chime when you opened and closed the door. The floors were glossy black and white checkered tiles. All the trimmings were the "stylish" chrome. Booths and stools were turquoise and pink alternatively. The place looked like sickening sweet cotton candy with tin foil wrappers on a chess board.

The bar itself was a slate black lazy semi-circle that held many of sliding drinks and plates. Behind it contained weapons of mass construction against any hankering you can try to throw at it. From sodas and shakes to pretty much anything greasy but oh so good, they served it to you with a smile. It was trimmed with the matching chrome and the front side displayed a long skirting of stainless steel.

The kitchen in the back was a continuous mess during the hours when The Watering Hole was open. Yet during the eight hours after it closed, it was impeccable. Every single thing was put back into its place. It was sanitized once at night and once before work began. The motto was, "Start off with a squeaky clean slate." In its hay day it was fully modern.

It was a beauty. It was glorious and glamorous. It was fabulous. It was wonderful and full of life. But, the emphasis here, it was.

I grew up knowing the place as "the run-down shack Carter and his old lady live in". The once creamy exterior was marred by graffiti in black, red, and green. Places seemed to rot in the old walls where kids egged or took a sledge hammer to it. But, sadly a lot of the wear on the outside walls was from simple neglect. The windows, once invisible walls, had constant red clay veils on. The whole thing was just a sad mess, and this was the place I was told to apply.

Here's a quick glance of what _Carter and his old lady_ saw when I walked in through the door that Thursday afternoon. I am five foot seven. I've a dancer's build. I was wearing a red polo shirt and a pair of my "Goth pants" that contain more zippers than a pants department in a store. There were three visible tattoos, one on each upper arm and one on the left side of my neck. There was a pair of rings protruding from my bottom lip and, at least, three in each ear. My hair **would **have been spiked, but the bright red locks were combed into a more prim and proper fashion. This, ladies and gentlemen, was Robert and Elma Carter's first impression of Mae Trenton.

The sixty-something Mrs. Elma Carter is still the least judgmental waitress in Clay County, if not the state of Indiana. She stood proud at four foot eleven and a little on the podgy side. None the less she had a sweet and dapper appearance. Everything in her outfit was not only bright colored but, also precisely arranged.

"Well, hi there," she chirped before I could get my head poked all the way through the threshold. She packed a surprisingly loud and alto voice. She hopped off her stool, carrying a menu that looked like it belonged more in at a museum, as an exhibit piece, than a running diner. Her curled dark brunette bounced lightly as she nearly skipped over to me.

"No, no, Hun," I corrected. "I'm actually here for a job?" I looked over to the two regulars sheepishly. The old men just stared back, past thick glasses and their papers. One actually turned around in his booth to take the time to stare at me. I gave them a little wave.

"Mercy sakes, someone actually listened to Robert at church?" she laughed. "Well, come on in. I'll grab the old fart and see what we can do." She tossed the menu onto the bar and continued on back to the kitchen. She didn't even touch the swinging door yet and already started hollering at him, "Robert T. Carter, do I have some news for you..."

I sat down at one of the stools, to wait. I felt eyes on me so I looked back and to my left to the two men in the booth farthest from the door along the front wall. I nodded to and greeted them, "Gentlemen." They both scoffed and went back to their coffee and papers. The younger of the two was the one with his back to me. I could see he was reading the comics.

I looked around at the dingy place. With smelling the lack of cleaning and washing, hearing the old machinery clink along trying to survive, and feeling the faulty air conditioning made me realize something. "This place is a wreck," I concluded in a soft murmur, feeling sad for them. _What makes Grams think that they'll let me work here? _A roach crawled over the white rubber toe of my left red canvas shoe. _Or that I __want__ to work here._

Robert and Elma emerged from the kitchen as if they knew I started to contemplate leaving. He was a foot and some odd inches taller than Elma. A constant cigar in his mouth and an even more constant five o' clock shadow were two of him most predominant features. He had two chins bearing the shadow and a beer keg hidden under his stained white shirt and a stained apron that could have been white at one time. He had a friar balding spot that he kept covered with a paper hat. He took one look at me and informed me that I should get the expletive out of his building. His crude and unwilling to compromise "ethic" earned him a wooden spoon to the back of the head.

"SHE is a sweet young gal and you shouldn't be talking like that in the first place," chided Elma. "Now, I didn't catch your name, sweetie." She faced me and smiled past her small framed glasses, "What is it?"

I cleared my throat and stood up, offering a hand to her. "My name is Mae Trenton, and it is a pleasure to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Carter."

She took it and giggled. "Ooh, like the month... So it's M-A-Y?" she inquired, elbowing her husband at his hip. She didn't even really shake it before letting my hand go again.

"No, no," I chuckled. I offered my hand to Robert. He took it in a firm but not bone crunching grasp and shook it thrice. "It's M-A-E. Like Mae West."

Elma chuckled and Robert's cigar lifted as his lips slowly curled into a grin. For the first time he spoke, "So, you know the oldies then, huh?"

I nodded and simply uttered a closed, "Mhmm."

"Did you watch any of her stuff?" he asked. _Wait, aren't we supposed to be having an interview here?_

"No, but I am familiar with Audrey Hepburn," I admitted, blushing lightly as, again, Elma cooed.

"Oh, I just love Audrey Hepburn. She's so funny," chattered Elma. "She was such a lovely looking lady, too. Why, Robert here just had this big ol' crush on her."

Robert just cleared his throat and looked away. I took this chance to offer him my résumé so he didn't have to be part of this conversation. He gave me a thankful glance and took the two sheets and began looking through them. At one point he even stopped and looked into my direction. _Ah, you read that I used to help manage a restaurant for a couple of years and realized I was only seventeen when I started that position._ "How old?" he began to ask.

"I was seventeen," I answered. He nodded and looked back down to the résumé. Elma whole heartedly laughed at this interaction. "I'm used to the question because my work history reaches back seven years and my second job was a restaurant manager back when I was seventeen."

"Ooh, a manager," she cooed again. Her brown eyes were held at a large style and she, again, elbowed Robert. "Did you hear that, shnook? She was a manager. She could help us out a lot for business then.

"I don't want changes, Elma," he simply growled. Well, to be fair his voice was always growly. I guess that's what you get when you're always smoking and drinking liquor. So, it didn't help that even though I was more than willing to work any job at the minimum wage, he was still going to reject me.

I hadn't been surprised. I usually was rejected. It was because of my appearance, I knew it. I also knew how I could land this job, if not today, another time. "It's because off my appearance," I commented.

"Now, honey. Don't say that," Elma tried to comfort me, she glared up at her husband. Robert rubbed the back of his head and was going to try to come up with some excuse. "He's just really particular."

"No, it's because I'm different you know it, I know it, and HE definitively knows it," I calmly explained. I looked up into his faded blue eyes and asked, "If I could come back here without you recognizing me, would you hire me on the spot?"

"Look at yourself, kid," he started to murmur. "You'd stand out in a circus. Let alone here. I'd recognize a wreck like you any day of the week."

"Are you willing to bet that open position on it?" I argued with a slight smirk on my face. (Hey, I'll admit it when I'm smug… I was really smug there.) I figured that this was going to be a challenge that he couldn't refuse, especially in public.

"Well…" Robert began to say when one of the old men from the corner yelled at him, "Robert, give the girl a chance. You and I both know that you need some LIFE in this place. Everett, here, is going to be dead and I'm going to be dust before you get more business without taking a risk."

"Can it, Hyrum," growled Robert.

"I'm just saying as all. You need-" Hyrum began.

"I **said**, 'Can it'!" yelled Robert. "I am the owner of this establishment. I could easily kick you out. And, the last time I did that you came crawling back to me begging for a place for you and your snot-nosed over-sized spoiled brat you call a son can leech off of all day. I make the decisions here, you got it?"

Faintly, I heard Hyrum muttering from behind his paper. "I was just saying is all…" I chuckled lightly and looked back at Robert. "What do you say?" I asked again. This time I made sure the challenge was clear. "If I come back here and you don't recognize me, will you hire me on the spot and let me help you save the Watering Hole?" I kept my gaze onto his dark brown eyes and held it there until he looked away.

"Fine," he agreed, sighing. "If you can come back here, in two weeks, and I can't identify you, then I'll hire you. BUT, we're not going to make this another burger joint…"

"Of course, not," I agreed and offered my hand. "But, we will be updating equipment, menus, and styling a bit. Not to change it from the charm, but to make it easier to maintain and more efficient. Perhaps you and Elma can be managers here instead of breaking your backs."

He growled and gave me a weary eye. He knew that I would try my hardest to succeed in the challenge. And, he didn't care for all the options I had given him. But, deep down inside, Robert Carter didn't believe this odd duck, this outcast, this… freak could ever change his mind.


End file.
